


A full-on Monet

by hippocrates460



Series: Clueless [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-08 12:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: Greg and Mycroft pretend to be in a relationship and visit Greg's parents in France. Sleepovers inspire honesty and sharing and they realise they might like to be more than friends.





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress, I appreciate any feedback on language, culture, writing, etc. It's my first time writing Mystrade, but the story wouldn't leave me alone and now that I've written some of it down I'm curious to hear what people think.  
> UPDATE: Now complete!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travelling to France, and meeting the parents.

“So, I suppose I should warn you.” Greg sighs as he finishes chewing.

“Now? When we’re five hours away from arriving where we agreed to go a month ago?”

Greg shoots Mycroft a look from across the car and huffs. “At least you’re calling it ‘agreed to go’ not ‘coerced into going’.” He wordlessly hands Mycroft another sandwich from the lunch he packed before going to work that morning.

“I do remember negotiating quite harshly for the week of home cooked dinners I’ll be getting in return.”

“Tell me again tonight if you think that’ll be enough.”

This makes Mycroft pause and look over. “Are they honestly bad?” he asks, suddenly concerned.

“Oh no, don’t think that, they’re just very... _themselves_ ”

“Well, as a Holmes, I think you’ll find I’m rather used to people being _themselves_ ”

“I suppose I should have expected that”

“But tell me, what are you worried about. Do they not approve?”

“What, of me being with a man? No, they’re not like that. They really aren’t bad, they’re just... I'll tell you all. Feel free to zone out if you're bored." He shuffles in his seat.

"My mum and dad met in London when they worked at the same restaurant and then opened the restaurant in Paris together a year after. They were 20 and 22 then. We spent our childhoods being ferried back and forth between the UK and France, and they’ve always presented a united front. They’re so used to each other they just seem to forget other people don’t share everything. When you move so much you depend on your family for all social contact, so all they have and know is family and employees. I’m probably mostly easily irritated by their behaviour because they’re my parents.”

“Probably, I find myself coming to the same conclusions about my family.”

“My siblings are no Sherlock and Eurus though.”

“Thank heavens, I think they are quite enough for the world as is.”

“You’ll meet Em, my sister, too. She’s great. Might even bring her husband and daughter.”

“Are... ‘Em’ and you close?”

Greg giggles at his tone “Not sure if it’s Emma or Emily?”

“Quite.”

“Guess.”

“I’ll go for Emma. It works in both French and English, more so than Emily.”

“Actually, we’re all just named after our grandparents. We always joke that they’re lucky they got two boys and two girls on first try, otherwise they would’ve had to keep going.”

“Emma then?”

“It surprises me you didn’t already know. Is it not in my file?”

“I do wish you would stop teasing me about that. It really was just a safety precaution when you started working with my brother.” Mycroft tries to glare at Greg but chuckles despite himself.

“It’s too much fun Mycroft” Greg laughs “I’ll never stop. And I really doubt you didn’t look into my parents before this trip.”

Greg turns his head only to see Mycroft staring blankly ahead. He laughs again. “Anthea did it for you?”

“Indeed.”

“Emma and Gregory were my mum’s parents, Jacques and Morgane were my dad’s. Now tell me about the car Mycroft, when did it arrive?”

They chat for a while about Mycroft's new car while finishing their lunch. When they're done eating Greg pulls out a thermos of tea (“Darjeeling?” “How could you possibly know that?” “Your smug face, Gregory”) and before they know it they’ve arrived at the tunnel. As they are standing next to the car on the train to France, Mycroft asks: “Do they all live in France?”

Greg stretches and leans back against the hood. “Just Emma, Morgane married a Scot and lives in Edinburgh, Jacques lives in the US.”

“Alright. Anything else your parents will expect me to know?”

“I’ll let you know if I think of something.”

“The next step in our ruse should perhaps be to decide on what our story will be.”

“I always prefer sticking as close to the truth as possible.”

“Very sound strategy, I feel. When creating a disguise, it’s best to stick with what is easy to remember.”

“A disguise is always a self-portrait after all.” Greg chuckles.

“I was just thinking that too.”

“How about we tell them that we’ve been friends for years, but got closer after Sherrinford and started dating about six months ago?”

“Excellent, long enough to be quite serious, short enough to be a secret without raising suspicions. Anything else _maman_ will want to know?”

“Mum? We call her mum even when we’re speaking French.”

“Is that what I should call her?”

“Mycroft, you know just as well as I do that when you meet people you go for the most formal option until they’ve repeatedly told you not to.”

“Yes, usually, but how should I act in front of your parents?”

“Like yourself, why wouldn’t you?” Greg frowns while studying Mycroft's face.

“You might want to make sure they like me.”

“No. If they don’t like you they can go... They will. They’ll like you because I do. You don’t need to be anyone other than you are Mycroft, I’m your friend because you’re you. I appreciate you being willing to pretend we’re in a relationship so mum will stop nagging me, but beyond pretending we’ve been shagging for some time there is no need pretend.”

“Oh." Mycroft pauses. "Thank you, Gregory.”

“Mum will have a right fit when she hears I let you call me that.”

“Should I not?”

“No, you should, I can’t wait. I've never let anyone call me Gregory before.” 

They are both quiet for a while when Greg suddenly turns around “I’m really sorry I dragged you into this Mycroft”

“You know very well I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” Mycroft says, with finality.

“You’re right. We’ll make sure to have fun then.” 

“I’m already enjoying this. My greatest hope for this weekend is baby photos, I hope you know that.”

When it is time to get back into the car, Mycroft hands Greg the car keys. Greg stares at the keys incredulously then blinks at Mycroft. “Get in then.”

“Are you sure? It’s brand new!”

“I know how much you’ve been drooling over this car, even before it came out. I trust you, and you probably have more experience driving on the wrong side of the road anyway.” Greg giggles at that, and needing no more encouragement, almost skips around the car to the driver side, getting in and wiggling in the seat while grinning widely. This will be fun.

\-----

They arrive at the house when it’s starting to get dark. The last part of the drive took them to the countryside that was turning golden and distractingly beautiful with the fall and the evening light. After parking in front of his parents’ house, Greg turns off the engine but doesn’t move to get out.

“Last chance” he sighs.

“Oh, stop it” Mycroft answers, and he gets out, moving gracefully to the back of the car to get the luggage.

Greg makes his way over to the door to ring the doorbell and then turns around to carry his bag to the front door. Mycroft is looking around the quiet street, appreciating the streetlights that have turned on and the crisp air. Greg’s mother opens the door with a bright smile on her face, and Greg turns to kiss her on both cheeks. "Hi mum". « _Salut, papa_  » he adds as his dad shows up behind his mother, wiping his hands on an apron, and Greg gathers him into a hug. Mycroft kisses Greg’s mother on both cheeks as well, and shakes hands with Greg’s dad.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Thank you for the invite Mr and Mrs Lestrade.”

“Oh none of that. Please call me Julia.”

“And you may call me Chef.” Greg’s dad adds with sparkling eyes, but a straight face. Greg looks mortified but Mycroft huffs a laugh and makes a small bow in the direction of Greg’s father. « _Oui, Chef_ » They all smile and Julia waves Greg and Mycroft in.

“Feel free to get settled upstairs, dinner will be another hour or so at least.”

“Thanks mum” Greg mutters as he picks up his bag. He motions for Mycroft to come along and starts walking up the stairs.

Mycroft looks around trying to take in as many details as possible of the hallway, staring at the pictures on the walls as he follows Greg to his bedroom. When they get to Greg’s bedroom, Mycroft stops in the middle of the room to look around. He takes in the pictures and posters, the small desk and the bookshelves, the neatly made bed, and the comfortable, lived in atmosphere. Greg is already unpacking his bag, putting his toiletry bag in the adjoined bathroom and hanging his jacket in the closet. He notices Mycroft hasn’t moved and smiles when he sees the expression on Mycroft’s face.

“How is it different from what you expected?”

Mycroft turns to look at him and smiles back. “I didn’t really think about what your room would be like but I suppose I wasn’t expecting it to be so personal.”

“I was a big fan” Greg admits, referring to the posters. “And I still am a fan” he admits, pointing at the slightly bleached football scarves hanging on the wall above his desk.

“I like the collection, two national teams as well as two local teams.”

Greg laughs at that. “Comes with the dual nationality I guess”

In comfortable silence, they move around the room together, putting away some of their things. Mycroft’s jackets and trousers are hung in the closet, next to Greg’s things. When they are done, they look at each other and smile again.

“Are you ready to face my parents again?”

“Will there be wine?”

This makes Greg laugh again and he shrugs as he says: “Let’s go find out”

\-----

When they arrive back downstairs, Greg’s parents are cleaning up the kitchen and the living room is starting to smell amazing. On the table, there is a bottle of wine, as well as some olives and walnuts set up. Greg motions Mycroft to sit down, and turns to the kitchen to pick up wine glasses. He comes back with four glasses and swiftly uncorks the wine before pouring some out for Mycroft to taste. Mycroft laughs at how Greg has unconsciously folded his arm behind his back as if he is serving the wine in a restaurant. Greg notices Mycroft’s amusement and tilts his head waiting for Mycroft to approve the wine. Mycroft nods and Greg joins him at the large wooden table standing in the middle of the large living room. They sit together drinking the wine in silence while Mycroft looks around as if to take in the whole room.

“This house is quite old, isn’t it?”

“Mm yes, my parents bought it right after Jacques was born. They renovated the whole thing because it was quite run down. I’m not sure when it was built, you’ll have to ask my dad. He loves talking about the history of the house but I tend to tune out.”

“Of course you do. I love how you can feel that this is the home to a large family.”

Greg’s parents have finished cleaning up and join Greg and Mycroft at the table.

“Thank you, Mycroft, that was exactly our intention when we were planning out the renovations.” Greg’s mother says, pouring herself and her husband some wine.

“Well that, and preserving the tiling and woodwork as much as possible.” Greg’s dad adds, to which Greg makes a rude noise and rolls his eyes.

“Oh would you stop that Gregory, I would actually like to hear this,” Mycroft says, swatting Greg’s arm. Greg’s parents grin at that and exchange a look. To Greg’s despair, his father inhales theatrically and starts to tell Mycroft: “As you can see from the structure of the house...”

They talk about the house over wine and olives, while Greg and his mother exchange a number of fond looks, until the kitchen timer goes off and Julia moves to the kitchen to turn off the oven.

“Could you help set the table, Greg?”

“Of course, mum.”

Greg and Mycroft both get up and walk over to the large open kitchen, where Julia is setting plates and cutlery on the island in the middle of the space. Greg gathers everything into his arms and makes his way back to the dining table, so Mycroft turns to Greg’s mother.

“How may I help you, Mrs Lestrade?”

“Oh please, do call me Julia and don’t make me ask again. You can carry the potatoes over, Greg will show you where the coasters are. Here, take the oven mitts.”

“Thank you. Julia.” Mycroft and Julia exchange a smile while Mycroft puts the mitts on.

As Mycroft walks over to the table, Greg turns and smiles in disbelief at the sight of Mycroft Holmes in oven mitts, carrying a huge tray of baked potatoes. He places some coasters on the table and returns to setting out the cutlery next to the plates. Mycroft sets down the potatoes and turns back to the kitchen where Julia wordlessly points at open oven door. Mycroft takes the chicken over to the table too and turns again to see if there is anything else to do.

“Sit down, dear. We have everything.”

Mycroft looks down at the endearment and does as Julia tells him to do, taken off the oven mitts and passing them into Greg’s father’s outstretched hand.

“Greg, would you like to tell Mycroft the story of these oven mitts while I carve the chicken?” Greg’s dad asks, as he is putting the oven mitts on to turn the tray with the roast chicken on it, lifting an eyebrow at Greg’s face.

“No, dad, don’t do that to me.”

“I think he would love to hear the story, honey” his mom chimes in.

Mycroft’s grin turns predatory as he shifts in his seat to turn his full attention to a now blushing Greg.

“Ok then” huffs Greg, staring at the table with a blush creeping up his cheeks, “if you promise not to bring out the baby pictures”. His mum laughs and pats his hand, which is clutching at the table. “I promised your sister we would do that together, considering the whole situation with hers.” she turns to Mycroft and in a conspirational tone adds “He showed them to her husband the first time he came over for dinner, even the ones where she had the chickenpox”.

Mycroft mocks outrage and turns back to Greg. “It seems you are quite out of options here.”

“Oh stop it. Fine. I made those oven mitts. I was eight and it was for Christmas, but I misspelled Christmas and when I realized I hid them. My parents didn’t end up discovering them until maybe five years ago, and have been using them since.”

Mycroft is shaking with silent laughter at Greg’s tone “Michel, would you be so kind as to pass me the oven mitts please? I should like to have a better look at them now.”

Greg’s dad passes the mitts with a grin and picks up Greg’s plate to start serving out the chicken. Mycroft studies the mitts with a serious expression, turning them to examine them from all angles. “Did you sew these, Gregory?”

“Yes, I did, can we stop now?”

“They are wonderful, you clearly put a lot of effort into them. I can see why your parents are so fond of these.” He smiles warmly at Greg, who hastily starts serving out potatoes and helping his father with the plates, hiding his flushed cheeks.

Once the chicken, potatoes, and salad have been served out, they are all quiet for a moment as they eat. When Greg’s mother is finished and serving herself a second serving of salad, she asks: “Mycroft, I’m sorry to say we know very little about you. Could you tell me how you met Greg?”.

“Ah well, that is my fault I’m afraid. I asked him not to tell anyone. I’m a very private person, but I do apologize if I made you feel left out. That was not my intention.”

Julia pets Mycroft hands and smiles as she says: “I’m only joking dear. Do tell us the story though.”

Mycroft blushes and looks down again, but starts anyway. “I am Sherlock’s brother. I do not know how much Greg has told you about Sherlock, but he manages to get himself in trouble with some frequency. We met on one such occasion and have been friends since.”

“Remember how I told you about Sherlock’s sister last year mum? Mycroft stayed with me after that and that is when we realized we wanted to be more than friends.”

“Ah, I do. So, a year already?”

“Just a few months actually, I didn’t want to take advantage of him when he was at the flat and it took some time after that to work up the courage.”

« _Je suis fier de toi, mon fils, d'avoir eu le courage._ » Greg’s father contributes softly. Both Greg and Mycroft turn their heads to take in his expression.

« _Merci, papa_ » Greg answers, just as softly.

Michel seems to remember their guest suddenly and looks at Mycroft starting to explain: “How rude of me, I was telling him that -- ”.

« _Je parle Français_ » Mycroft interrupts him, smiling.

Michel grins « _Mieux que lui_ ».

“I wouldn’t say that, I am hardly a native speaker of French. I appreciate the compliment however” Mycroft smiles at Michel before turning to Julia. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you and Michel meet?”

“He was working in London to get experience as a chef. I was working at the same restaurant as a waitress.” She smiles at the memory.

“I asked her to move to France with me on our first date.”

“And I said he could buy me dinner first.”

They all laugh and the atmosphere at the table is again light. After dinner, Julia brings out an apple crumble and they talk over desert and tea until Greg’s parents decide to go to bed.

“Let us do the washing up please, Julia.” Mycroft suggests as she gathers the dishes from the table and walks over to the kitchen.

“Oh, thank you, Mycroft. You’re very sweet.” She walks back to the table and kisses Mycroft and Greg each on the cheek before walking to the stairs together with her husband.

They all say goodnight and Greg and Mycroft walk to the kitchen to start the dishes. Side by side, they work silently. Greg washes, Mycroft dries, the same way they do when they have dinner together in London. Mycroft looks around squinting a little, before putting everything back into the cupboards while Greg cleans the counters and dries his hands. When he notices Mycroft put away the dishes he laughs. “Deduced it, did you?”

Mycroft shrugs, “that and I saw your mother get some of the dishes earlier.”

When the kitchen is clean, they decide to go upstairs and get their books. When they get to Greg’s bedroom, he opens the doors onto the slim balcony that runs along the back of the house and breathes in the evening air as he looks out over the gardens behind the house. Mycroft joins him and Greg points out some of the neighbours he still knows, the swing him and his siblings used to play on, the trees he used to climb. When he feels Mycroft starting to shiver he turns around and gently pushes Mycroft back inside.

\-----

After closing the doors, Greg grabs his pyjamas and gets into the bathroom to have a shower. He stays under the hot water for a long time, enjoying the feeling of the long drive seeping out of his tired muscles. When he remembers Mycroft will need hot water too, he quickly washes himself and gets out. He puts on his pyjamas and while brushing his teeth, walks out of the bathroom to let the steam out.

Mycroft is standing over the framed pictures on Greg’s bookshelves, and he turns around with a guilty look on his face as he hears Greg open the bathroom door. “I apologize, I should have asked first.”

Greg motions to his face, which is covered in toothpaste foam and turns around to go deal with that. When he steps back into the bedroom he is grinning. “I brought you here, and these are the ones I like. Don’t worry.”

Mycroft smiles at him and grabs his pyjamas, silky dark green ones. When he moves behind Greg to go to the bathroom he giggles.

“What?”

“You have the label on your pyjama top still”

“I don’t own any, or didn’t, now” Greg admits sheepishly “so I picked some up at M&S a couple of days ago. Rip off the tag for me, will you?”. He tilts his head forward to give Mycroft easy access and turns around after he hears the snap. “Thank you” he says, as Mycroft hands him the tag. They smile at each other, and Mycroft turns away to go shower.

When Mycroft steps out again, Greg is reading on the bed, leaning against the headboard, wearing his flannel pyjamas and reading glasses. “You can ask about the pictures if you’re interested” he says, when he makes eye contact with Mycroft.

“Tell me about the one on your nightstand”

“Family holiday in Greece, I like it because it was a good day, I think I was 12”

“And the one over here?”

“Michelle had it made and put up here. She never liked staying in this room, said it felt like she was intruding on something that was only mine.”

“How old are they here?”

“I think they’re four. The whole series of photos is hilarious actually, neither of them liked the dresses much so half the pictures have at least one of them screaming or tearing at the clothes.”

They both laugh as Mycroft sits down next to Greg, grabbing his own book from the nightstand on his side of the bed. Greg looks at him fondly over his reading glasses and smiles. “Go on then, you know you want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, you are fare gentler than I’m used to anyways.”

Mycroft pulls a face. “I so wish he would learn to keep his mouth shut sometimes”

“No use waiting for miracles Mycroft, now get on with it”

“Ok. You lived here for 7 years in total, when you were a child of maybe 6 and then again as a young teenager. I can tell by the books that you got your high school diploma here, and knowing when you joined the force I would say something made you move to London. A failed relationship in the final year before graduation? Your mother comes in here to clean but doesn’t pry which suggests you have a trusting relationship and you did not rebel too much as a teenager. You are not very close to your two youngest siblings and fought with them often when you were living here still. How am I doing?”

“Spot on, as always.”

“Your bed is new, Michelle made you buy it. There are children’s toys under the sink so you stayed here with your children, probably for holidays. You shared the bathroom with Emma.”

“Still perfect.” Greg’s soft smile reminds Mycroft of what he really wants to ask.

“What I can’t deduce however, is why you told your mother we’re together.”

Greg studies his face, but Mycroft really seems to just be curious. “What did you think before?”

“You don’t normally do things to spite people, so I didn’t think that. You’re not cruel enough to use me to shock your parents, besides, they are lovely to me. I don’t know. Can you tell me?”

“She assumed it” Greg admits. “She knew I had a friend called Mycroft, and whenever she asked about my weekend or how I was doing, the positive and fun things always involved you. When she asked me to come here, she asked me to bring my boyfriend.” He looks over at Mycroft, and then back at his hands. “When I asked her who she was talking about, she sounded so proud and happy when she answered ‘Mycroft’, I didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”

Mycroft nods, taking in Greg’s posture and body language. He looks like he’s feeling ashamed. “You don’t need to feel ashamed, you know. I’ve lied plenty to my parents.”

Greg laughs at that. “Totally different context! But you’re right, and I know. She’s just been nagging me about it so much since Jacques came out.”

“Is he gay?”

“No, he’s asexual. It took her some time to understand, but she’s good about it now. He explained that he doesn’t want to be with anyone and that he is happy, and she backed off in the end. Emma and Morgane are married.”

Mycroft nods again, and lifts up an eyebrow as Greg gets out of bed. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to turn off the big light, want to switch on the nightlight?”

Mycroft flicks on the lamp next to him, and Greg turns off the light. He pads back to the bed and slides under the covers, wiggling a little to get comfortable.

“Do you want to sleep now?” Mycroft closes his book and holds it in his lap.

“Not at all, I want to keep talking, but you know how sleepovers go.”

“I cannot say I do.”

“You never had sleepovers growing up?”

“Or after.”

“Wait what?” Greg stares at Mycroft. “Not even after sex?”

“You know how my security detail feels about me sleeping over at other people’s houses and you know how I feel about having people in my house at all.”

Greg laughs at the memory of Mycroft’s suits sweeping his flat every day Mycroft stayed over. “Yeah I remember that. But what about relationships?”

“My last relationship was in university, when the political climate was not so kind towards gay men.”

“I feel really honoured to be your first then.” Mycroft looks over at Greg to see if he’s being mocked. Greg looks back at him, nothing but sincerity written all over his face.

Mycroft smiles at Greg with a fondness that spreads across his face. “I have always trusted you.”

“Let me tell you the rules of sleepovers then.” Greg’s eyes twinkle.

“Please do” amusement crinkles Mycroft’s eyes as he too gets under the covers and leans back against the headboard.

“First of all, you have the best conversations in the dark. This is not so much a rule of sleepovers as it is a rule of nature. When you can’t see each other, it is easier to tell things that are hard to say.”

“I see, should I turn off the light then?”

“Not yet, we’re still sitting. When we lie down the light should be off.”

“Is that the second rule?”

“Maybe.” Greg laughs softly. “I honestly don’t know what the other rules would be. Are you ok on that side of the bed? I normally sleep on the right but we can switch if you prefer.”

“I sleep in the middle normally.”

“Fair enough.” Greg shuffles down until he’s lying on his back and then rolls over to his side to face Mycroft. “If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to kick me out. I tend to get cuddly.”

Mycroft giggles at that. “I won’t hesitate to defend my honour.” Leaning over, he switches off the light and settles down. He turns to face Greg in the dark. “Is there anything hard to say that you would like to tell me?”

Greg laughs softly. “Can I ask you something instead? Feel free to tell me to piss off if it’s none of my business.”

“Go ahead.”

“How did you come out to your parents?”

“I didn’t, Sherlock did it for me.”

“Of course he bloody did.” They both laugh at that.

“He likes to think himself unpredictable.”

“The git just likes to believe himself above the social rules of us mortals.”

Still giggling, Mycroft softly adds “he deduced it over dinner”.

“So what happened?”

“He told my parents about my crush on some boy, loudly. I was mortified and went straight to bed. My parents never mentioned it again, but it was clear that it was true.”

“And outside of your family?”

“I never saw the point in trying to hide it, so I’ve always been open about it. I figured that if it wasn’t a secret, it couldn’t be used for blackmail.”

“That seems fair.”

“Can I ask you something too?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“What about you? How did you come out?”

“I had a friend, Remi, here, when we lived here as kids. And when we moved back I started dating him. His dad caught us making out in his room, and called my mum. It was quite the mess.”

“So that is the relationship that ended at the end of high school?”

“It is. We stayed together in secret for a bit, but he kept telling me how lucky I was to be bi, not gay. In the end, that and the secrecy was too much.”

“That is horrible. I’m very sorry to have brought it up.”

“No don’t be, that is what conversations in the dark are for. You can’t see my face so I don’t have to hide my expression.”

“I’ve known you for a very long time, your voice tells me everything I need to know.”

Greg laughs at that, it is bright and happy sound. “Yes Mycroft, you know me.”

“You know what," Greg adds, after some thought "in a way he was right of course. I’ve been with women and I’ve been with men, but no one at work knows I’m bi. No one ever needs to know. I’m not exactly out and proud, and it is a privilege that I never had to deal with being out on the force.”

“You’re not less queer for never having been in a long-term relationship with a man, Gregory.”

“I know but” Greg sighs. He pulls his knees up and pushes both his arms under his head. “Can I tell you something that I’ve never told anyone before?”

“Absolutely” Mycroft answers softly, feeling something in his chest constrict a little at the intimacy.

“I almost forget myself sometimes. And then I see someone, or I hear something and I suddenly remember. I never forget all the way but I’ve allowed myself not to define myself as bi. It’s not a big part of how I think of myself.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I think maybe yes. I like men, I like being reminded that I do. Sometimes I’m walking in the streets and my head turns at a hot guy and I think to myself ‘holy fuck I’m gay’.” Greg is laughing while saying it, but stops quickly, a bit embarrassed. “I would like to be more involved with that part of myself I think.” He adds softly.

“I don’t see why you couldn’t,” Mycroft answers, just as softly. “Do your children know?”

“Yes, I made a big point of that. Michelle understood, so we have always been open about it with the girls. And you and Sherlock know, because you two know everything. But I’ve been thinking for a while about how to be more genuine and open in other aspects of my life. Maybe I’ll participate in the Pride this year. The Met always does something.”

“You could do that. Why is this important to you?” Mycroft asks, stifling a yawn, which makes Greg giggle.

“Bedtime, is it?”

“I am enjoying this far too much” Mycroft admits.

“Me too” Greg answers, settling deeper under the covers.

“Are sleepovers always like this?”

“Only the good ones”

“You haven’t answered me yet” Mycroft complains, drawling a little.

Greg huffs and shushes him: “Tomorrow”.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Goodnight Gregory”

“Night Mycroft”


	2. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg go to Paris for the day.

It’s 4:12 am when Mycroft wakes up suddenly. It takes him a while to realize what startled him, but then he hears Greg whimper softly. He sits up and looks over at Greg, who is facing away from him and curled up in a foetus position. He is clearly having a nightmare, his face scrounged up in the low light of the bedroom, and has started to whimper again.

“No, no no no no no.”

“Hey” Mycroft shushes, putting a hand on Greg’s upper arm “Greg, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up.” He gently shakes Greg and keeps talking to him while Greg gets more and more agitated. Suddenly Greg sits up, panting and looking around. Mycroft jumps from the sudden movement and scoots back to his side of the mattress.

“You’re ok,” Mycroft says, his voice low and soothing, “just a nightmare”. 

Greg still looks bewildered and rubs his face “God, I’m sorry”.

“Don’t be.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Come lie down, you’re ok” Mycroft lies down as he says it.

“God that was horrible.”

“Would you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Greg shudders “I really am sorry. I’ll let you go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you up.”

“Greg you stayed up with me for hours when I had the Sherrinford nightmares.” The 'don't be ridiculous' obvious from his tone.

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s true.” Greg sighs, lying down on his back next to Mycroft.

“What helps you?” Mycroft asks the dark ceiling.

“Contact.”

“Lift your head then,” Mycroft commands. Greg obeys, clearly confused but understanding when Mycroft sneaks his arm under Greg’s neck. With a deep sigh, he relaxes his head down again, moving to curl up on his side, with his head on the crook of Mycroft’s arm. Mycroft wraps his arm around him and he sighs again.

“Thank you” Greg mutters.

“You are very welcome. Now sleep.”

Before long, Greg breathing gets deeper, as he settles back to sleep. Mycroft stays awake looking at him, listening to his slow breathing, for a while longer before his breath starts to match Greg and the deep, quiet peace sends him back to sleep too.

An hour or so later, Mycroft wakes up again, feeling cold and needing to use the bathroom. His arm is still wrapped around Greg but is now asleep and prickling uncomfortably. Greg is still fast asleep and has snuck his hand under Mycroft’s pyjama top, resting it on his stomach. When he realizes, Mycroft freezes. Double checking Greg is really asleep, he feels his face flush in embarrassment.

After lying very still for a few breaths, he slowly puts Greg’s arm next to him on the mattress, sneaks his own arm out from underneath Greg’s head, and slips out of the bed to use the bathroom. It is still dark outside, so when he returns, he gets back under the covers, turns his back towards Greg and falls asleep again.

\----- 

When Greg wakes up, Mycroft is still asleep. He is lying on his back and looks completely relaxed, his face slack in his sleep. Greg takes a minute to enjoy the warmth around him, before he notices he can hear his parents moving about the kitchen. As he sits up to get out of the bed, Mycroft wakes up.

“Mornin’”

“Good morning” Mycroft mutters, his voice heavy with sleep.

Greg smiles down at Mycroft. “How did you sleep?” 

“Quite well, thank you. And yourself?” 

“Very well. Thank you for last night, I normally don’t fall asleep again after a nightmare.”

“Ah, yes. Think nothing of it. Would you appreciate talking about it at this point?” 

“I don’t even remember it now, just that bone-chilling feeling of fear.”

“I’m afraid I’m quite familiar with the sensation,” Mycroft admits. 

Greg turns and gets out of bed, padding to the bathroom before stopping at the door and turning around to face Mycroft. “You can shower first, I’ll just be a second.”

When he walks out of the bathroom again, Mycroft is holding his outfit for the day assembled on a hanger in one hand and is typing quickly on his phone with the other hand.

“All yours. Unless you need to prevent nuclear fallout first?” Greg teases.

“Just some emails” Mycroft answers without looking up, his eyes crinkling with amusement. Greg steps aside and Mycroft slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with his foot.

When Mycroft comes out of the bathroom again, dressed in one of his less casual suits, Greg is standing in the middle of the room on a yoga mat, his fingers interlaced underneath his chin. When Greg opens his eyes, Mycroft looks away quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Don’t worry” Greg assures him, his voice sounding warm and clear. “Go downstairs, get yourself some coffee. I’ll be done in a minute.” 

Mycroft nods and leaves, so Greg gathers his clothes and pops in the shower for a quick rinse. 

When Greg gets downstairs, Mycroft and his parents are sitting on the barstools by the kitchen island, enjoying coffee and what looks like fresh croissants.

“Gregory, I can’t believe you poison yourself with that stuff at the Yard when this is what you grew up on” Mycroft chirps when he sees Gregory enter the living room. 

Greg laughs at that “it took a few years, but enough late nights will make you drink anything that’s warm and caffeinated.” 

“Not after this I won’t.”

Greg chuckles and kisses his mum on her cheek before walking to the machine to make himself an espresso. “Do I get you another one then?” 

“Absolutely not, I will only drink coffee your father has made from now on.”

They all laugh at that. “I’ll teach you how I do it Mycroft, if you would like that” Michel suggests.

Mycroft looks over at Michel, as if to see if he means it. “Yes please. If you would.”

“Breakfast first.” Michel holds up the basket of croissants to Greg, who has sat down next to Mycroft at the end of the bar.

While Greg is tearing into his croissant, and later the _pain_ au _raisin_ he knows his mum bought specially for him, they talk about their plans for the day.

“So we meet you at the market at 5?” Greg asks his dad.

“Yes, I would like to try some new dishes if you’re amenable.”

“Of course. Will Emma join for dinner?”

Julia nods. “Her and Alice” 

Greg turns to Mycroft. “I was thinking of going to the Marmottan, Mycroft. You mentioned liking the waterlilies but it’s not really the time of year for Giverny. We can still go see Monet’s paintings though. Have you been?”

“No, I’ve never had the chance. That sounds wonderful.”

 “It’s been a long time for me but it’s a bit out of the centre so parking shouldn’t be such a...” Greg swallows as his mum glares at him “drag”.

Julia grins. “That sounds like a wonderful plan for the day. Will you go change Greg?”

“Sorry, what?” 

“You seem a little underdressed.” She waves at his jeans and then at Mycroft's carefully chosen suit with matching tie and pocket square.

Mycroft and Greg look at each other at that. “Mum, if I worried about that, I would never leave the house.”

Mycroft pulls a face at that. “Really Gregory -- ” He starts, but stops when he feels Greg gently touch his lower arm. 

“It doesn’t bother me Mycroft.”

“Your choice Greg.” Julia shrugs. “He just looks much nicer than you.”

The hand on his arm, and now the compliment, are too much for Mycroft, who stares down at his plates while his cheeks heat up. When Greg notices his expression, he chuckles softly.

“That’s enough mum. Mycroft, are you good to go?” 

“Yes, thank you.”

 -----

As Greg accelerates to merge onto the highway, craning his neck because the steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car, he notices Mycroft is staring at his hands. When they are comfortable on the highway, he turns to Mycroft, who has been quiet since they left the house.

“Out with it then.”

Mycroft takes a deep breath and looks over at Greg, before staring down at his hands again. “I don’t dress like this to make you feel uncomfortable.” 

“Oh stop,” Greg laughs “Mum is just teasing.”

Mycroft blushes again but leans back into his seat a little, visibly relaxing. “I actually think that jumper looks very nice on you. It’s a good colour.” 

“Yeah? The girls picked it out for me. They said the blue makes my eyes pop.” 

“I’m inclined to agree. They have good taste. Is it cashmere?”

“Yes. Which is why they made me pay for my own birthday present,” Greg laughs, and Mycroft joins in.

“They were actually telling me I looked like a ‘full-on Monet’ and then made me take them shopping.” 

“Monet?”

“You haven’t seen Clueless?”

“What is that?”

Greg laughs, “I’ll show you sometime. Basically they meant to say that I looked alright from a distance but like a mess up close.”

"That seems unkind" Mycroft mumbles.

"That's teenagers for ya" Greg shrugs.

After a pause he asks “Is there anything in Paris you were hoping to see or haven’t seen yet? I know we talked about the museum, but we have plenty of time before we meet up with my dad.”

“There is nothing I need to do. What would you like to do?”

“I asked first. What have you not seen yet?”

“There are numerous things I have never seen in Paris. Most of my trips were for business, meaning that I know a number of restaurants and what the city looks like at night from the window of a car.”

“Have you been to the Louvre?”

“Yes.”

“Arc de Triomphe? Notre Dame? Eiffel tower?”

“Yes, yes, and no.”

“You’ve never been on the Eiffel tower or you’ve never seen it?”

“Only from afar, I’m afraid.”

“Well, that settles that. We’ll park the car near the museum and then walk to the Eiffel tower, it’s only like 20 minutes away anyways. Do you want to go up?”

“Will there be crowds?” Mycroft crinkles his nose at the thought, and somehow Greg can hear him doing it.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Greg laughs. 

They drive in silence before Greg suddenly remembers something and sits up.

“I can tell you want to say something”

Greg laughs, “you know me too well.”

“What can I say, I’m very observant. Now tell me, what is on your mind.”

“I was just thinking about the sleepover rules, I have thought of some more.”

“Have you now?”

“They’re not actually sleepover rules after all” Greg decides.

Mycroft makes a small surprised sound and tilts his head to indicate he is listening.

“They’re honest conversation rules. You have to tell the truth when you’re having an honest conversation, and I know you do.” Greg glances at Mycroft out of the corner of his eyes and smiles “don’t think I don’t notice you give as little information as you can though.”

Mycroft laughs “Force of habit I’m afraid.”

“Yeah right, you just don’t like talking about yourself. I don’t mind though, don’t worry.”

He takes a moment before starting again. “Honest conversations are easier when you can’t see each other and no one else can hear you, like when you’re in bed together in the dark, or when you’re on a walk.”

“Or when you’re driving” Mycroft finishes.

“Exactly. What I’m trying to decide is if this is the moment to ask you something or if I should wait for the dark to make it even harder to look at each other.”

“Tell me what you want to know, and I’ll tell you if I’m comfortable talking about it.”

“Ok” Greg steels himself with a deep breath “how come you don’t like touching?”

Mycroft blinks twice in surprise and then chuckles.

“Right observations, wrong deduction. I love touching, I just don’t like being touched.” 

“Oh. That makes more sense. You don’t touch people because they will feel it is ok to touch you back?”

“Yes. It invites reciprocity.”

Greg thinks on that for a moment.

“Wait. Where?” He suddenly asks.

“Pardon?”

“You don’t like being touched where? I know you don’t mind hands, I’ve never seen you recoil from our knees bumping into each other, and last night you let me hug you.” 

Mycroft blushes deeply and stares down at his hands. “Would it upset you if I told you this is verging into the kind of question I’m not comfortable answering?”

“Oh god no, I’m sorry. I much prefer you telling me you’d rather not answer than lie. I’ll let it go.” 

“Thank you, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.” 

Greg grins and leans over to turn on the radio. He switches it to a classical music station and they both relax back into their seats.

\-----

Before long they get to Paris. They park the car, and when they get out of the garage, the Eiffel tower is already visible over the buildings around them. As they’re walking, they take turns pointing out things around them. The weather is bright and sunny, but the air is crisp and the trees are all yellows and reds. When Mycroft is in the middle of telling Greg about his favourite bridges across the Seine, he suddenly stops. 

“What’s up.”

“I believe I’ve been here before. Let me think.” Mycroft looks around, squinting slightly. “Do you mind?”

“No, we’re in no hurry, let’s explore.”

They turn into a side street and Mycroft explains: “I think there is a restaurant near here that I rather enjoyed going to a number of years ago. I've only ever been driven there so I could be wrong.”

“Oh well, let’s see if it’s still there and maybe we can come back for lunch after we see the Eiffel tower,” Greg suggests. It earns him a curious look from Mycroft, so he adds: “If you want that?”

“That sounds lovely. I appreciate how accommodating you are to me.”

“Mycroft.” Greg sighs softly.

They walk a bit further until Mycroft stops again. His face breaks open into a wide grin as he looks to the opposite side of the street. “It’s still here.”

Greg stares at Mycroft’s face and can’t help himself mirroring the grin. He takes in the unassuming looking restaurant. “Let’s go take some pictures of this tower and then we’ll come back for this.”

Mycroft nods eagerly and they set on their way again, Greg steering Mycroft away from the direction of the Eiffel tower when they cross the street. “You can see it better from Trocadero, and there aren’t normally so many people there.”

When they get to Trocadero, it is very quiet. The only people there are a handful of Chinese tourists and the people selling souvenirs and crêpes. The Eiffel tower stands proudly next to the river. Mycroft stares at it quietly, his hands grabbing his umbrella. 

“It’s nice from here, isn’t it?”

“Quite. If I’d known how close it was I would have visited before. Have you ever been up?” 

“I have, but I prefer the view from other buildings. The skyline is missing something when you can’t see the Eiffel tower.”

Mycroft nods his understanding. “Thank you for taking me here. This really is a wonderful sight.”

“You’re very welcome. Would you like a picture?”

“Oh yes.” Mycroft shifts to get his phone from his pocket and takes a few pictures, sending one to Anthea. “To prove I’m actually enjoying my days off” he grins. 

“In that case, let's send her a selfie.”

Mycroft pulls a face but allows Greg to stand next to him, as they both try to get their faces and the Eiffel tower into the frame.

“Do you want me to take it for you?” They hear a girl ask as they’re fidgeting and laughing, moving the phone around.

Greg looks up to see a teenager with bright blue hair smiling at them. “Yes please,” he says, with a look at Mycroft. He fishes out his own phone and swipes open the camera app before giving it to her.

The girl directs him and Mycroft to stand closer, more to the left, smile, yes. She takes a few pictures and when Greg looks at Mycroft he notices Mycroft smiling at him. He giggles, and faces the girl again, who hands him back his phone. “Thank you,” he tells her.

Mycroft looks at the girl and tilts his head a little. “Shall I take one of you and your girlfriend?”

The girl blushes but nods and motions over another girl Greg hadn’t even seen standing a few meters away. The other girl hands Mycroft her camera and Mycroft returns the favour of directing them so the picture will come out just so.

As he hands back the camera, they exchange goodbyes and with an “enjoy your stay” Greg and Mycroft walk away from the square in the direction of the river.

“How did you know?”

“They walked up the stairs holding hands and couldn’t stop staring at us. They were trying to figure out if we were a couple rather loudly until they heard you speak English.” 

Greg laughs “I saw but did not observe”. 

Mycroft only grins in response.

They walk down the stairs and across the river, and loop around the Eiffel tower and the Champs de Mars, stopping frequently for pictures and chatting about the city. Mycroft turns out to be an expert on Parisian architecture so Greg listens to him, enjoying a tour of the city he knows so well. When they arrive back at the foot of the Eiffel tower, Greg buys a golden mini keychain copy of the real thing, as Mycroft walks around taking pictures from below. When Mycroft joins Greg again they wordlessly set off in the direction of the river.

They walk in the direction of the restaurant quietly until Greg heaves a deep sigh.

“You know, you’ve answered your own question I think.”

“Pardon?” 

“What you asked last night, about why it matters that I'm out.”

“Did I?” 

“Did you ask?” Greg giggles.

“Did I answer, I wasn’t that sleepy.” 

“Yes.” Greg nods, suddenly serious again. “It matters because girls like that can walk around holding hands now, but they should also be able to look around and see people like them. Visualizing the future is a powerful tool for making it through dark times, I could help people that look at me feel hopeful because I am happy and well. Representation and all that, you know.”

Mycroft doesn’t say anything but stares at Greg while they keep walking. When he realizes they have reached the restaurant again, he stops and turns to face Greg. “You’re a good man.”

Greg blushes but nods. “The right thing to do. That’s why it matters.” He leans over to hold the restaurant door open for Mycroft.

Greg follows Mycroft into the warm restaurant and before he can close the door, he hears a loud squeal.

« _Monsieur Holmes!_ » A short woman with a wide grin on her face makes her way across the restaurant with surprising speed. She grabs Mycroft by the shoulder and kisses him firmly on both cheeks. Mycroft greets her with an equally wide grin. « _Bonjour, madame Roux._ »

« _Assoyez-vous_ » she pushes them towards a table by the window and takes their coats, after introducing herself to Greg.

Her and Mycroft chat happily for a while, and Greg just stares as wine and bread appear on the table. When their host walks away to greet another guest, with significantly less enthusiasm this time, Greg turns to Mycroft.

“What the hell was that about?” he grins.

Mycroft’s ears turn a little pink and he takes another sip of wine “I stayed at an embassy near here for a while and ate here every day during that time. It seems she remembers me too.”

“Unspecific as always." Greg grins. "Don't think I’m complaining though, I love seeing you like this” Greg admits, which makes Mycroft blush more.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush this much before.” 

“I have to say I’m surprising myself. It might be the distance from London that is making me more relaxed.” 

Greg leans back in his seat and sips his wine. “That and the excellent company of me and my wonderful family of course.”

“Obviously” Mycroft replies, mimicking the way Sherlock says it. They both laugh. “Are you comfortable with the suggestions she made for our lunch?” 

“Absolutely, the stew sounds fantastic. And if the wine is any indication, she has great taste.” 

“That she does.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“I know you don’t like talking about yourself, and you know how I overshare, but do you feel comfortable enough here to give a proper answer?”

“What an interesting question, where did this come from?” Mycroft tilts his head, his full attention on Greg.

“I wanted to ask you what got you into photography, but then I thought the answer might not be simple.”

“The answer to that question is simple, I got a camera for a birthday as a child, and as you know I have a visual mind. It brings me comfort to capture the things I see and enjoy looking at. What told you I was interested in photography?”

“You prefer sending me pictures of what you’re doing rather than describing it in a text. Didn’t take me long to notice they were nice pictures too. That and I noticed you adjusting the settings on that girl’s camera earlier.”

Mycroft gives Greg a fond look. “Again, I must say you are far more observant than Sherlock gives you credit for.”

“You say that like you’re not trying to distract me from the other thing I asked” Greg shoots back.

“Oh would you look at that, the food is here” Mycroft chuckles, unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap.

“Weak” Greg mutters, mirroring Mycroft as the food is set down in front of them.

“The answer is no, Gregory. This is far too public a setting.” Mycroft says as the waiter walks away.

“What about at home?” Greg asks as he starts eating. “God this is amazing.”

“I agree, and at home would be fine.”

“What about the car?”

“The car is not public either.”

“But it was a sensitive topic, I think I get it. You might not want to talk about it but as long as it’s not in front of other people I can ask.”

“Only you, Gregory.”

They smile at each other and continue eating in silence.

When Greg swipes up the last of the sauce on his plate with a piece of bread, he leans back and sighs contentedly. Madame Roux has pulled up a chair and she and Mycroft are discussing the restaurant and how business has been going. When she suggests desert however, Mycroft glances at Greg before telling her « _Non, merci. Nous allons au musée Marmottan maintenant_ » while patting her hand. Mycroft walks with madame Roux to the bar to pay while Greg uses the bathroom, and as Greg is putting on his coat, he hears Mycroft telling her to contact him if she ever needs anything. He smiles at the side of Mycroft few people get to see and helps him into his coat. They both get two more kisses as a goodbye before they set off into the cold again.

“This suits you.” Greg bumps his arm gently against Mycroft’s as they walk towards the museum.

“What does?” Mycroft wrinkles his forehead in consideration.

“Normalcy. You look right at home in your club and in the negotiations you let me be your Met consultant for, but this suits you too.”

Mycroft laughs “Does that surprise you?”

“Less than I thought it would” Greg laughs back. “I thought you might be on your phone the whole time.”

“I’m better at relaxing than that.”

“Yeah sure, wait until something happens.”

“Would that bother you?” Mycroft asks, his frown back on his face. 

“No. Not at all. You know I’m as much of a workaholic as you are.”

“Entirely true, at least I try to delegate when I get called at 3 in the morning.” They’re laughing again.

When they get to the museum, Greg buys them two tickets while Mycroft admires the architecture of the building. They give off their coats and stare at the map.

“Here’s how we’re going to do this.” Greg whispers at Mycroft.

Mycroft looks at him, lifting an eyebrow.

“We’re going to walk around together until you get bored of how slow I am in museums, and then you go ahead and we’ll see each other here at 4:30.”

“I am convinced it will be the other way around, but the plan is still solid,” Mycroft whispers back. 

“Let’s see.”

They have only made it through a couple of rooms by the time Greg’s phone buzzes 4:30 in his pocket, having lingered over every painting, talking about all the details and the use of colour, the variations in the thickness of paint, and discussing the layout of the exhibition. “Thank you very much for taking me here” Mycroft whispers as they stand outside putting their coats back on. “Anytime” Greg whispers back. They walk back to the car quietly.

\-----

When they arrive at the large covered market, Greg spots his father haggling over fish. They make their way over and when Michel spots them he waves and smiles. Greg shakes hands with the salesman and introduces Mycroft before the conversation goes right back to fish. While Michel and the salesman are having a passionate debate about preparing mussels, Greg turns to Mycroft. “My dad has been working with this guy since we moved here, this is going to take a while.”

Mycroft laughs and looks around the busy market “I don’t mind. It seems your father has collected all the other ingredients already.”

“I hope so, that’s a lot of bags for one dinner.”

“He said he wanted to try out dishes, what did he mean by that?” 

“For the restaurant, he likes to make us try things that are half-formed so we can give feedback. He’ll have bought stuff that is a little off-season to prepare for when the menu changes.” 

“That sounds rather exciting.”

“Should I have taken you to the restaurant? It didn’t even occur to me, I’m sorry.”

“Not at all” Mycroft reassures him, “maybe next time” he adds casually before they both realize what that implies.

Before either of them can say anything else, Michel interrupts. “Ok boys, I’m done. Are you ready to head back?” 

 Mycroft and Greg nod and they walk back to the car. Mycroft hands Greg the keys and gets a radiant smile in return. They both chuckle at Greg’s excitement, and start laughing outright when Greg unlocks the car and Michel gasps when he realizes which one they will be driving in.

“I would have made your mother pick me up if I’d known!”

“Nonsense, it is no trouble at all” Mycroft graciously opens the back of the car and starts piling in the groceries. “Go sit next to Greg” he suggests, laughing again when Michel sports a familiar boyish grin at the suggestion.

“If you’re sure?”

“Absolutely” Mycroft confirms and he gets in behind the driver seat elegantly.

\-----

When they get back to the house, having talked the whole way about cars and how Mycroft is lazy for preferring automatic cars, Michel makes them take off their ‘smelly market shoes’ at the front door. They pad into the living room on their socks and pile the groceries on the kitchen island.

“Time to use the bathroom is now” Michel commands, getting into chef mode. Mycroft goes first, and when Greg comes back into the living room, he is greeted by the sight of Mycroft in an apron. His jacket is hanging from one of the dinner table chairs, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Greg has to stop himself from staring at the world’s most sensual forearms and rolls his shoulders back as he grabs an apron for himself. 

Michel is dividing post-its with recipes and instructions around the kitchen, as well as the ingredients from the shopping bags. Greg shrugs at Mycroft’s questioning look when he observes what is clearly a well-rehearsed family ritual. Michel directs them each to a little pile of ingredients.

“I see I’m on mussel duty” Mycroft grins, reading his post-it.

“And I’m on the stock and grilling” Greg laughs, holding up two post-its.

Greg and Mycroft settle next to each other and start cleaning vegetables and gutting fish, while Michel finishes setting up. “Mycroft, don’t start the last step until I tell you too.”

« _Oui Chef_ » Mycroft grins.

Julia walks into the kitchen from the garden at that point, carrying a large basket with wood and a smaller one with wet walnuts perched on top of it. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold and she grins at the sight of the men in the kitchen. She kisses Michel on the cheek as she walks past and sets to starting the fire, spreading out the walnuts on a newspaper next to the fireplace when the fire is crackling happily.

As they cook, Greg and Mycroft move easily around each other, having cooked together at their respective flats often enough to have a system. Julia hands out glasses of wine and sets to cooking as well. Michel directs all of them like he is conducting an orchestra until the doorbell rings.

Greg looks up, grinning brightly, and while wiping his hands on his apron he hurries over to the front door. Mycroft hears excited squealing and kissing drift in from the hallway, and when he looks up Greg is making his way over with his arm wrapped around Emma. Alice follows behind.

They all greet each other and continue cooking while Emma and Alice set the table. As they finish, Michel waves everyone out of the kitchen so he can bring together everything himself. Greg, Julia, and Mycroft take off their aprons and join Emma and Alice at the table with the wine and some more olives.

Mycroft and Greg are telling Julia about their day in Paris when Alice leans over and whispers something in her mother’s ear.

“Why don’t you ask him, love?”

« _En Anglais?_ »

« _Si tu veux._ » Mycroft tells Alice gently.

She smiles at him, still a little shy. “Do you know Machiavelli?”

“I do if we’re talking about Niccolò Machiavelli.” Mycroft answers.

“No, she means a game we play” Greg explains. “Go get it, love, we’ll teach him.”

Alice runs off and comes right back with a small box, setting it down at the empty end of the table. She chatters excitedly as she moves over the wine bottle and olives, and sets up the game while explaining the rules, half in French, half in English.

“You should tell her if she’s going too fast,” Emma tells Mycroft, who is looking a little confused, as they sit down around the game.

“I think we should play a round and then I’ll see if I get it.”

It takes only one round before Mycroft gets the hang of both the rules and the personalities of the people he’s playing with, but he seems to enjoy trying to come second without being obvious. Greg can’t stop chuckling at the irony of Mycroft playing a game called Machiavelli and when Mycroft stares him down with an eyebrow lifted he actually laughs, throwing his head back.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll be serious” he tells the women who are looking at Mycroft and Greg in confusion.

When Julia hands out her death stroke and wins by 2 points from Mycroft, Michel calls for them to come carry food to the table. Mycroft is standing in the kitchen in the blink of an eye, putting on the oven mitts before the rest has even stood up. Greg blushes at his predatory glare but walks over to help.

When Michel has explained all the dishes they start eating. After a bit of silence and some questions from Emma on the technical aspects of the cooking, Michel puts his cutlery down and turns to his children. 

“Well?”

Mycroft looks at Greg for an explanation. When Greg finishes chewing he motions at the table. “My dad makes us guess what dishes will be included in the menu.”

“Can I have a go?” Mycroft asks to the surprise of everyone but Greg.

“Of course you can, see if you can deduce it. Do you want to know what influences the decision?”

“Not yet” Mycroft decides after considering, and he rattles off all the dishes with whether he thinks they will be going to the restaurant or not, along with his reasoning.

“How did I do?” He asks Michel.

“Spot on for all but the mussels. You’re right that they’re not easy to get right in a restaurant setting, but they’re very good, so they’ll be worth it.”

Mycroft’s grin threatens to split open his face, so he quickly takes a sip of wine to hide his expression. Julia and Emma giggle at Greg’s obvious pride.

When they’re done eating, Greg and his dad offer to clean up, so Mycroft joins the women on the couch in the cosy corner of the living room that hosts the TV and some well-loved couches and chairs. Alice lies on her stomach on the floor and switches on the TV as Emma demands to hear about the visit to the museum. 

Julia gets up to make tea and Mycroft pulls out his phone to show Emma the pictures he took at the museum. He blushes when she flips past the last picture to the photos that Greg sent him of them in front of the Eiffel tower. 

“God you’re adorable” Emma coos, and she elbows him gently. 

Mycroft suddenly feels very exposed without his shoes or jacket, and shifts to pull his legs underneath him, so he’s sitting on his knees. Turning to face Emma, he tucks his feet in between the couch pillow and the arm rest.

“What would you say is your favourite Monet?” He asks, switching the conversation back to more comfortable terrain.

Emma’s grin tells him she didn’t fall for it, but she answers anyway. “I love the paintings he made of people. Trying to capture their essence and motion.”

“I feel the same way” Mycroft admits, smiling to tell her he appreciates the shift in topic “like the woman with a parasol”.

“Shame it’s in the US, that one.” 

“Yes, in Washington. I saw it there.” 

“I’m very jealous” Emma laughs.

Mycroft startles as he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry love, didn’t mean to startle you” Julia soothes, handing him his tea.

Mycroft mumbles an apology and accepts the tea, grateful to be holding something. As Julia is handing out the tea, Greg and his father join them, sitting down on the other couch while Julia curls up in one of the large chairs by the window. They all chat until Emma decides that it is time to take Alice to bed. 

After saying their goodbyes and waving Emma and Alice off, Greg’s parents also move upstairs. Greg turns to Mycroft grinning “you tired?”.

“Not at all” Mycroft admits. 

“Up for an adventure?” 

“Yes?” Mycroft sounds unsure, which makes Greg laugh. “Wait right here” he whispers, and he runs upstairs.

Mycroft decides to clean up the tea mugs, and after he put the last mug away in the cupboard he turns to find Greg standing in the middle of the room with a huge grin on his face and two thick sweaters in his hands. He hands the dark red one to Mycroft, who touches the soft wool with a confused expression on his face. 

“Let’s go watch the stars.” Greg suggests.

“Yes,” Mycroft agrees, suddenly very eager to be outside.

They wrap up in the sweaters and their coats, scarves, and gloves. Greg puts on woollen socks and wellies, and hands Mycroft socks and wellies to put on too. Mycroft crinkles his nose but puts them on, and wrapped up they step outside into the cold, Greg clutching a bundle of something. The night is very cold, with no clouds in sight. Despite the light of the village Greg’s parents live in, a number of stars can be seen already. They set off together, their breaths creating puffs of smoke as they walk.

“I nicked a bottle of scotch” Greg whispers, as they reach the edge of the village. Mycroft grins at him “the good kind?” 

“Nothing but the best for you” Greg winks.

They trudge up a hill together, their boots making rather obscene noises as they walk. The exercise warms them up so much Mycroft contemplates taking off his scarf before Greg stops suddenly as they reach a concrete bunker near the top of the hill. “Wait here” he suggests, and ducks into the bunker, coming out with a ladder.

“Can’t believe this is still here” he grins, as he leans the ladder against the bunker. He holds the ladder still and nudges Mycroft up. When Mycroft reaches the top of the ladder and steps onto the flat top of the bunker awkwardly, he looks around in awe. The landscape stretches out all around them, barely visible in the pale light of the half moon. In the distance, he can see the village glowing, and throughout the landscape there are clusters of light where people live. On the horizon, an orange glow indicates the direction of Paris. Far more interesting than all that, however, is the milky way which stretches out above them. He holds his breath as Greg steps close to him. “Gorgeous innit?” he breathes close to Mycroft's ear. Mycroft can only nod.

Greg unwraps the bundle, passing Mycroft the bottle of scotch, and unfolds what turns out to be a woollen blanket, laying it out on the top of the bunker. He lies down with a sign, and Mycroft joins him, finally able to appreciate the night sky in all its glory. 

They stay there until not even the scotch can keep them warm, and after climbing back down the ladder stiffly, they walk back to the house silently.

Back in Greg’s bedroom, the smell of the crisp night all around them still, Greg dresses down to his undershirt and trousers before stepping close to Mycroft and grabbing his hand. They didn't bother turning on any lights as they got back, but Mycroft can make out the lines of his face and the glint in his eyes perfectly. Greg looks Mycroft in the eyes earnestly, and whispers “thank you for sharing that with me”. Mycroft nods and swallows, and Greg turns to get into the shower.

When they’re both clean and wrapped up in pyjamas and blankets, Mycroft rolls onto his side in the low light of the bedroom and answers: “Thank you for showing me that”.

“I used to go there when I was a kid, had my first kiss on that bunker” Greg admits.

“Thank you for making me feel so welcome in your life and with your family,” Mycroft says sincerely.

“I can say the same to you.”

“I’m very secretive and my family isn’t exactly warm.”

“Yet you tell me all these things that are on your mind and you care for me with the same predictable loyalty that you extend to Sherlock.”

Mycroft feels his cheeks heat and is grateful for the dark. “Speaking of telling you things,” he says after a minute “you may ask now if you’re still interested”.

“Oh yes” sighs Greg “remind me how I phrased it?”.

Mycroft laughs softly. “You don’t remember?”

“Not verbatim, and I know that matters for you.”

“You asked where I didn’t like to be touched. The answer is I prefer not to be touched anywhere besides my hands. It seems you are the exception, as you have noticed I don’t mind when you accidentally touch me, and last night it brought me no discomfort to have my arm around you.”

Greg ponders that for a moment. “I can tell we’re doing word games, you’re being too specific.”

Mycroft holds his breath as he waits for what’s coming next. 

“I’ll let it go though. Tell me about sex.” 

“Pardon?”

“How do you have sex without touching?”

Mycroft coughs and rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling, but answers anyway: “I like touching, some don’t mind the restrictions I place upon my partners.”

“Oh” Greg sighs, before blurting out: “What a damn shame.” 

“Pardon?” Mycroft repeats, feeling his stomach clench uncomfortably.

“The best part is feeling skin all along your skin.” 

“That is hardly sex, that is intimacy.”

Greg has to swallow at what that implies, his throat suddenly thick, before being able to answer. “It absolutely is.”

“Greg?” Mycroft asks the ceiling. 

“Yes,” Greg whispers in Mycroft’s direction. 

“I feel very close to you right now.” His voice is low.

“I feel very close to you right now too.” Greg whispers back. “Tell me if this isn’t ok,” he says, grabbing Mycroft’s hand in the dark.

Mycroft stills but then relaxes again, and shift back onto his side to face Greg, his right hand still in Greg’s. 

“Again, feel free to tell me to shut up” Greg starts “but all this talking is making me want to ask things I’ve been wondering about for a while.”

Mycroft squeezes Greg’s hand briefly to tell him to go on. Greg takes a deep breath and then asks slowly, as if unsure of how to phrase what he wants to know: “How come you haven’t been in a relationship since university?”

“What are you asking?”

“I would like the whole story, but I can ask specific questions if you prefer.”

Mycroft takes a deep breath to settle the nervous feeling in his stomach. “You told me something last night that you’ve never told anyone, and I felt honoured. I will do the same.”

Greg shifts in anticipation, swinging his hand that is still holding Mycroft’s over to rest next to his face and moving to hold on better. Mycroft shifts too, getting comfortable in the warm nest of blankets.

“We were only together for a bit” he starts. 

“Specificity doesn’t scare or unsettle me” Greg interrupts.

“Three months and four days. I can’t tell you hours and minutes because he broke up with me through a letter.” Mycroft sighs.

“I cannot tell you how it hurt. I understood I was not the first or last person in the world to have a broken heart, but it did feel that way.”

Greg squeezes Mycroft’s hand in response to that. 'It always does', he thought but didn't say.

“I grew up fat, ginger, freckled, too smart for my own good. I was bullied and teased by everyone, my family included. You’ve heard Sherlock. When I realized I was gay I thought that was it. To have someone show interest in me was so unexpected I barely slept the whole time we were together, afraid I would wake up and find it all over. Which is what happened in the end of course. I see now that I was 18 and so constantly surprised by the affection I was receiving that we could have never gone anywhere.” Mycroft unconsciously pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his free arm around them.

“And since then?” Greg asks softly. 

“I thought I had blown my only chance, and threw myself into work. I cannot explain in strong enough terms how much I honestly believed there would be no one that could love me.”

“Past tense.” Greg breathes.

“Oh but now I’m too old to change my ways. Intimacy is a foreign concept to me, I work too much for anyone to accept and I am still” he stops abruptly.

“Oh god” Greg says, suddenly understanding. “Transport.”

Mycroft bows his head and pulls his knees closer to his chest.

“That's why you don't like being touched, isn't it. You don't like your body. What do you think is so horrible? Stretchmarks? Scars?”

Mycroft’s tone turns ice cold and he straightens his back as he answers: “I think I’d like to stop talking about this.”

“Ok” Greg answers, not letting go of Mycroft’s hand. “Don’t think your little iceman act is going to push me away though.”

Mycroft stays quiet and they both breathe softly at each other for a while, their hands feeling suddenly awkward and clammy.

“Can I just say something though?” Greg asks, and continues without waiting for an answer “You’re middle-aged. So am I. That doesn’t make you unattractive or unworthy of affection. Flabby arms and thighs, soft bellies, stretchmarks, these things are normal. None of that could ever make you less stunning.”

Mycroft doesn’t answer, so Greg breathes through his irritation. How could this brilliant idiot think any of that would matter?

“I have no illusions about the hardships of starting a relationship when you’re both set in your ways and on the wrong side of 40, especially if you’ve had no practice. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible or not worth it.” 

He feels Mycroft nod, and decides to just ask. After a deep breath, he lowers his voice and does, as gently as he can: “Would you like to?”

Just when he thinks Mycroft won’t answers he hears the impossible soft response: “God yes” 

He squeezes Mycroft’s hand in support and they stay quiet and unmoving until they both slowly fall asleep.


	3. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg Skypes his twins and a quiet day turns slightly complicated because of Sherlock.

Greg wakes up when the room gets lighter. It’s quite early still, so he doesn’t move yet. Lying on his back he feels the warmth of the covers, the clammy heat of Mycroft’s hand that he apparently held all night, the soft puffs of breath tickling his cheek. He smiles and feels comfort spread all through his chest and he tries to commit everything about this moment to memory. The time it takes for Mycroft to wake up seems to take both a hundred years and just a couple of seconds, but Greg enjoys it to the fullest. After what really is a couple of minutes, he hears Mycroft’s breathing change and when he turns his head, he sees fluttering eyelashes and a twitching nose, before Mycroft’s eyes fly open and they’re staring at each other.

“Mornin’” Greg huffs, smiling. He can see Mycroft think and waits for him to remember last night. When Mycroft seems to settle on embarrassment as his main emotion, he uses his free hand to gently touch a cheekbone.

“Don’t be” he whispers, and it seems that settles it. Mycroft smiles back finally.

“Good morning.”

“Coffee?”

“Shower.”

Greg puts on some thick socks, deciding coffee is more important right now and Mycroft can shower first. When he puts his hand on the door, he hears Mycroft hum, which makes him turn. Mycroft is standing in front of Greg’s small wardrobe, looking at his clothes hanging there. When he notices Greg staring, he turns and blushes a little when he confides in Greg: “I was thinking of something more casual today, but I’m afraid I’ll be cold.”

“Oh well” Greg shrugs, walking over to Mycroft “the sweaters we wore yesterday are here, and these are all wool." He waves around a little, indicating the stack of colourful wool. "Feel free to take any of them.”

Mycroft nods and selects a white shirt and dark green chinos to go with the undershirt and pants he is already holding. With a smile to Greg he walks into the bathroom and shuts the door. 

Greg walks downstairs in his pyjamas, eager for his coffee. He greets his parents in the kitchen and they chat while they set up for breakfast. Mycroft joins them quietly before long, wearing the thick grey sweater Greg was wearing the night before. Michel nods him over to the coffee machine to begin his instruction. When Mycroft has tried and failed to make his coffee just like Michel’s a couple of times, they sit down with the various attempts. 

“I am very sorry to be making you drink this,” he says earnestly, which makes Greg and his parents laugh.

“Your coffee is already better than Jules’ and we’ve been together for longer than I care to remember” Michel laughs, which earns him a punch and a grin from Julia. 

They eat in silence before Mycroft clears his throat and asks: “What are the plans for today?”

“Well I have to Skype the girls in a bit, and then I was thinking we could walk around town a little, maybe read in front of the fire or help my parents in the garden. Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“I’m afraid I’ve been receiving increasingly panicked messages all morning, I might have to phone Anthea to sort out whatever they need me for.”

Greg nods at this, but Michel throws his head back laughing, and Mycroft stares at him, both eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation.

“Knew you weren’t minor” Michel finally manages to say, which makes Mycroft and Greg exchange a look.

“The familial likeness really is uncanny,” Mycroft remarks, before taking another sip of his not good enough coffee “although Greg did phrase it differently”.

“Oh speaking of familial likeness,” Greg bursts out “look what Emma sent me this morning!”

He fumbles for his phone and after unlocking it, turns the screen around to Mycroft, and then his family. On the screen is a message from Emma reading ‘I like him bro, don’t think I’ll forget the baby photos again next time tho. x’

Mycroft smiles gratefully at Greg for changing the topic, and they spend the rest of breakfast speculating about the worst possible baby pictures and laughing.

\-----

When they finish eating, Greg goes upstairs to shower and change, and Mycroft helps cleaning up. When Greg comes back downstairs, he is holding his laptop. He sets up on the kitchen island and opens up Skype so he can hear it when his daughters call. They all sit down on barstools while Julia makes tea and sets out the ingredients for cookies.

“Do you do this every Sunday?” Mycroft asks while typing on his phone.

“Unless I have a case,” Greg nods “best way to keep in touch while they’re away at boarding school. They email or text their mum almost every day but I like hearing them talk.”

They drink tea while Julia is baking and chat quietly until Greg sits up, blushing brightly.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t think about this earlier but mum and dad” he starts, shifting in his seat “I haven’t told the girls. About Mycroft.”

“How come?”

“I wanted to tell them in person” Greg makes up quickly, which seems to make sense to his parents.

“Do I go upstairs?” Mycroft asks, already moving to stand up.

“No, no, stay. I want them to know of you, we can just tell them you’re a friend.” Greg suggests. “If you don’t mind, that is” he quickly adds.

“No, I’d love to meet your children, even if it is over Skype” Mycroft smiles reassuringly.

As he says it, Greg’s laptop starts ringing, causing his face to break open in a wide grin. He quickly clicks accept and the screen starts blinking a pixelated image. “Lizzie! Hi love!”

“Hi dad! How are you?” Liz’ voice sounds through the speakers.

“I’m good love, at your grandparents’ house for the weekend. How are you?”

“I’m also good! Finally handed in that paper I was telling you about. Who’s that sitting next to you?”

“This is Mycroft,” Greg indicates with his hand “Sherlock’s brother.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you Elizabeth,” Mycroft says stiffly to the laptop.

Liz giggles, “Sherlock’s brother ey? Do you do deductions too?”

Before Mycroft can answer, the laptop beeps and Liz squeals “Sorry, Abby is online, I’ll just add her!”

The screen blinks again, and another grinning face joins the ones already on the screen.

“Abs, dad is in France with Sherlock’s brother!” Liz explains before anyone else can say anything.

“As if! He never takes off work long enough to actually go anywhere!” Abby teases, causing everyone to laugh.

“It’s a Clueless reference” Greg explains to Mycroft. Mycroft nods in understanding, smiling at the banter between Greg and his children.

After a round of introductions and some good-natured deductions from Mycroft to an excited Liz and a slightly pale looking Abby, Mycroft makes his excuses and leaves to call Anthea. Greg’s parents join the call then, and they all chat about how the girls are doing and the plans for their Christmas break for a while before Michel and Julia leave to work in the garden. After an hour or so of chatting, Liz’ roommate comes over to ask if they can please keep it down, so they decide to call it a day.

“Bye girls, I love you” Greg says, waving at his screen.

“Bye dad! Bye Abs!” Liz waves back, and she signs off.

Before Greg can say goodbye to Abby too, she says “Dad, can I just.”

“Yes love?”

“Would it be ok if I brought someone home for Christmas? Her parents can’t afford the flight ticket home but a ticket to London wouldn’t be nearly as expensive.”

“Of course, how about you tell your sister and I’ll talk to your mum about it?”

“Nah, I’ll tell her myself” Abby smiles, looking suddenly much happier.

“Good. Have a good day love” Greg smiles back.

“You too dad! Bye!”

Closing his laptop, Greg remembers he should have asked Abby who was going to be staying over. Shrugging he picked up his laptop to put it back upstairs. 

\-----

In Greg’s bedroom, Mycroft is pacing up and down, talking quietly on the phone. When he sees Greg, he gestures at his phone in apology and Greg quickly smiles and squeezes his shoulder in reassurance. Greg decides to grab his book and go read in front of the fire.

After helping his parents in the garden and getting a good fire going, Greg does just that, making it through most of a chapter before his stomach growls. Checking the clock, he realizes it’s definitely lunch time, and as his parents are having lunch with friends in town and Mycroft is still on the phone, he makes some sandwiches to take upstairs.

When Greg gets back upstairs, a frustrated looking Mycroft is standing on the balcony, talking in what appears to be rapid Chinese. He sets down a plate of sandwiches on his desk and waves at Mycroft to alert him to the food. Mycroft looks incredibly guilty and rattles off something into his phone before swiftly hanging up.

“I’m so sorry” he starts.

 “Oh no, don’t be, I know how it is” Greg interrupts. “Here, eat something.”

 “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet, I was going to make myself some sandwiches after taking these up to you.”

 “I’ll join you downstairs. I told Anthea to handle it from here on.”

As they’re walking downstairs, Greg asks: “Dare I ask what has happened?”

“Sherlock, of course.”

“The little shit.”

“Quite,” Mycroft chuckles “it seems someone from his homeless network thinks they have uncovered some terrorist plot to poison the drinking water in London.” 

“And Sherlock, of course, depends on them blindly.”

“And in the process of uncovering this plot has agitated rather more government agencies than should be possible in the span of two days.”

They both laugh, too used to Sherlock’s antics to be surprised. Greg finishes making sandwiches for himself and joins Mycroft at the bar.

“How high do you think the chance is that you’ll have to go back?” 

“If this turns out to be true, both of us will be needed. I hope it will take until tomorrow to truly escalate, but you know how things go.”

Greg nods, thinking while chewing. “But you’re ok for now?” He asks, suddenly.

“Yes, I told Anthea not to call me unless the helicopter is on its way to pick us up.”

Greg laughs at that. “First of all, you’re a show-off for speaking whatever that was with Anthea. Secondly, if the helicopter comes, let’s drive to the helipad ourselves so my parents don’t have to deal with the gossip.”

“I can’t be sure no one overhears here, Gregory,” Mycroft says, smiling, “and I will let her know.”

“Let’s walk around town then. You can actually see things when it’s not dark out,” Greg adds, with a wink.

Mycroft nods and gets up to clean up.

\-----

When they are both wrapped up warmly again, they set off into the opposite direction they went in the night before. Greg shares gossip about all the neighbours he knows. Mycroft adds updates here and there when he can deduce something. They reach the centre of the village rather fast and set off along the river to keep walking. The air is fresh and the sun is warm enough for them to loosen their scarfs and take off their gloves. As they cross a bridge, Greg turns to Mycroft to point out where he used to go fishing and finds his breathing stutter.

“What?” Mycroft demands, an alarmed look on his face.

“Nothing! I’m sorry,” Greg rushes. Unfortunately, this only adds to Mycroft’s alarm, and he raises his hands to touch his face.

“Oh god” Greg groans “I’ll tell you, just to stop you freaking out.”

Mycroft nods, as Greg steels himself.

“I really don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with any of this, I just noticed your cheeks are flushed from the cold and the walking.”

“And?” Mycroft demands, not reassured at all.

Greg looks at his shoes and pushes his hands into his pockets, before deciding to be a big boy and looking up to meet Mycroft’s eyes. “And you look gorgeous like that.”

Mycroft flushes impossible redder and looks away, his hands covering his cheeks. “You can’t mean that” he whispers to his feet.

“Come on, let’s keep walking,” Greg tugs on Mycroft’s sleeve, and they walk on towards the countryside. “I really do though. I’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

They walk in silence for a bit before Greg decides this conversation will have to wait. 

“Do you want to tell me why Abby was so pale when you were deducing her?” He asks finally.

“She is hiding something from you, and she worried I would tell.” Mycroft sighs, immensely grateful for the change in topic.

“I won’t ask you to tell me because I trust you would have already if it was something I needed to know.” Mycroft nods, sometimes it is better to let people tell you things in their own time.

“Could you tell me if she’s planning on telling me at all and if it has something to do with her bringing someone home for Christmas?” 

“Yes and probably” Mycroft answers. 

“I worry about them all the time” Greg admits.

 “It’s not the same, but I think I do understand” Mycroft sighs.

Greg laughs “yeah it’s not the same, mine aren’t nearly as likely to get in trouble!” In a softer tone, he adds: “just because he isn’t your child doesn’t mean you haven’t been a parent to him. I know how much you care.”

They walk in silence for a bit longer, enjoying the colourful trees and the hills around them.

Greg suddenly remembers his earlier decision about being a big boy when he realizes they are walking in the direction of the bunker, so he takes a deep breath and turns to Mycroft.

“Do you mind if I talk about something that might make you uncomfortable here?”

“We’re alone here” Mycroft answers, waving his hand as a go ahead.

“I’ve really enjoyed spending all this time together, and getting to know you in a different way by having so many honest conversations.” Greg starts.

“I feel the same.”

“I’m really glad to hear that. Because I want to make something very clear. You indicated the first time I asked that you were not interested in relationships and I’ve always respected that.” He suddenly laughs “god that must have been 5 years ago when we had that conversation.”

“Four and 8 months” Mycroft says, his voice sounds like he might be smiling but when Greg turns to check, Mycroft eyes look worried. Back to the topic at hand then.

“Last night you said you might want to be in a relationship again, and I won’t assume anything about that, and I definitely don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“But?”

“I want to talk to you about these things, talk to you about what you struggle with, what worries you. Mostly I want you to talk to me. These things matter to me and I worry about you. God knows you don’t talk to anyone else about it.” He steals a look at Mycroft’s face, which is attentive but still worried looking.

They walk in silence a bit longer before Greg inhales deeply. “Tell me to shut up if you tire of my rambling, but I would like to share something with you I’ve been thinking about a lot.”

Mycroft nods so he keeps going. “Fair warning, this is going to involve a terrible metaphor.”

This seems to clear the air a bit, and they both laugh, as they keep walking through the countryside.

“So, I’ve been thinking about Sherlock and relationships. I know you and Sherlock aren’t the same, but I’ll get to what this means for you in a bit. Sherlock has no personal experience with relationships, which is part of the reason why he and John are such a mess. But another part of it is that Sherlock deletes all the help that he could be getting, from like collective memory.” 

Greg is starting to get wound up at his story, and Mycroft stares fondly at his hands gesturing to emphasize words and phrases.

“The way I see it, all this pop culture Sherlock so proudly ignores and deletes has a function: it teaches you about the human condition. The things that all people have in common, you have to learn from hearing other people’s struggles. I can’t tell you how often I’ve realized a cliché suddenly applied to me, or that my favourite book or movie takes on a new meaning when I go through a life experience a character goes through too. You see, no man is an island.” 

He sighs and looks over at Mycroft, who seems to be listening intently.

“Except for Sherlock. He has dug a moat around himself and burns all bridges and sinks all boats. And then one day John shows up and he has for all intents and purposes never seen another human being before.”

“I’d like to disagree with you there,” Mycroft interrupts softly “he wasn’t alone, he had you.”

“And you.”

“I understand what you mean, we are no John.”

“Exactly! So Sherlock is an island, who has taken this thing that humans do to live together better, from back when we shared stories in caves around fires, and somehow managed to very effectively dismiss it. I know it’s done at least partially out of fear, in a sort of ‘if I don’t want it they can’t deny me it’ kind of way, but it’s left him without stories to rely on.”

Greg is a little out of breath, so they walk silently for a bit before he continues: “And that brings me to you.”

Mycroft lifts an eyebrow at him, urging Greg to continue his story. They’re getting pretty close to the house again.

“I have this frame of reference, that makes me understand what is normal. I know you have a different frame of reference to me, and that it includes a lot more black and white movies than movies about American teenagers, but I really hope it has taught you some of the same things I know. Like how I know it is normal to feel alone and to want someone to truly see and understand you, and how it’s normal to feel trapped by the body you are being made to live in sometimes. It is depressingly normal to feel like everyone else should have noticed the change in the world too, when you get your heart broken. But it is also very comforting.”

He stops walking and turns to look at Mycroft to see if he understands. Mycroft’s eyes are shining a little, but he is smiling.

"Sherlock calls this pedestrian or boring, but the comfort it brings me to know I'm not alone in what I feel is something I wish for everyone."

“I would like to tell you two things," Mycroft tells him after a pause. "Firstly, I have never thought about it this way before, and despite feeling rather island-like for most of my life, I’m feeling entirely human right now, more than I ever have.”

They grin at each other and Mycroft continues, much softer now: “Secondly, this is the best weekend of my life. Thank you.”

Greg smiles his widest smile and squeezes Mycroft’s hand briefly before they walk back to the house together.

\-----

As they walk in, they are greeted by Greg’s parents, who are setting up for tea.

 “Hey boys, come sit down” Julia shouts from the kitchen cheerfully. They take off their coats and join Julia and Michel at the table, faces bright from the cold weather outside. As Greg is explaining where they walked, Mycroft’s phone rings. He shoots Greg a meaningful look as he answers: “Hello Anthea”. While talking, he steps outside into the garden.

Greg sighs and drains his cup before turning to his parents. “I’m not entirely sure this is what she’s calling about, but I think Mycroft and I will have to leave. It’s work.”

Greg’s parents look at Greg, and then at each other, before getting up as one. “I’ll pack you sandwiches,” Julia says, before walking to the kitchen. “I’ll help you pack” Michel suggests. Greg nods and walks to the garden door, where Mycroft is stepping back in. “Leaving?” He asks. Mycroft nods.

“Mum will pack us sandwiches and dad will help us pack upstairs,” Greg fills Mycroft in.

“Really? They’re not upset we’re leaving?”

“Of course they would rather we stay, but they understand the demands of work,” Greg shrugs.

As they walk upstairs Mycroft says to Michel: “Thank you for being so incredibly welcoming.”

“You’re very welcome Mycroft, now how about you go change and I put all your stuff into your bags.”

They change into suits and pack quickly and quietly and are back down after a few minutes, where Julia has set a paper bag with sandwiches, cookies, and a thermos of tea on the table. “You can bring it back when we see you next, dears.”

They all greet each other and hug by the front door and when Julia lets Mycroft go she says: “You should join us for Christmas Mycroft.”

Mycroft blushes deeply and bows his head, “I’m afraid my parents will expect my attendance Julia, but thank you so much for inviting me,” he turns to face Michel too “and your hospitality over the last few days.” 

“You’re welcome dear” she coos, and pats him on the cheek.

With another quick kiss on Greg’s cheek, she shoos them out the door, and they drive off swiftly.

“Where to?” Greg asks, fumbling with the navigation.

“Don’t worry, I know how to drive” Mycroft waves Greg off, as he smoothly pulls onto the slightly bigger road outside of the village.

“Bragging.” Greg chuckles.

“Complaining.” Mycroft shoots back, laughing too.

When they arrive at the helipad 20 minutes later, Mycroft gets out to greet the pilot. They shake hands and Mycroft hands him the car keys before taking the bags and putting them into the helicopter. Greg stares at him.

“It seemed like the best use of time for me to fly, and for him to drive the car back.”

“You’ll be flying us?”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“God no, it makes me excited!” Greg grins.

“Get in then, no use wasting time.”

They fly in silence and get back to London in no time at all, which actually makes Greg a little sad. It is too loud in the helicopter for a proper conversation, so he just admires the view, but it feels like an all too abrupt ending to the weekend.

\-----

When they land, Mycroft hands everything back off to Anthea, who is waiting for them.

“I’ll take my own bag” Greg suggests.

“I could have it dropped off for you, sir.”

“No breaking into my flat without a good reason” he laughs, shaking his head.

She shrugs as if to say ‘your funeral’ and turns to Mycroft to explain where they stand: “It seems Sherlock has done all the figuring out, they just need you to come in and sort the diplomacy, and for the Detective Inspector to make the arrests. I have cars waiting for both of you, sir.”

“Thank you, Anthea.” Mycroft nods.

With a look to Greg he waits for a beat and then holds out his hand. “Thank you for a fantastic weekend, Gregory.”

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Holmes,” Greg chuckles at Mycroft’s formal tone, but he shakes his hand. “Let’s say we wrap this thing up by 7 and then go out for some Chinese for a proper ending to this trip?”

“Yes,” Mycroft says “if you’re not tired of me, that is.”

With an “I could never” Greg gets into one of the waiting cars, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

When he arrives at the scene, Sherlock is shouting at everyone, John has his migraine face on, and everyone stares at the luggage he drags out of the car, before getting a PC to stand guard over it. Since nothing is ever easy, it takes until after 9 for Greg to wrap up, and the second he turns to grab his bag, his phone rings. 

“Spying on me?” He laughs.

“Good evening Gregory, I was hoping to inquire if you would still be amenable to having Chinese as we discussed earlier” Mycroft answers, but his voice betrays he is smiling.

“Absolutely, but could we make that take away and wine in pyjamas?”

As he says it, a car rolls up, and when he opens the door to get in, Mycroft is already there. He hangs up and sits down with a heavy sigh, his bag on his lap.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It is a little late for sitting in a restaurant.”

“That and I would really like to be wearing pyjamas right now. How about you call for food and I call mum to thank her for the sandwiches?”

Mycroft nods and they both pull out their phones again. They share the last cookies on the way over. When they pull into the garage at Mycroft’s house half an hour later Mycroft is long done with the order but Greg is still talking.

“Yes mum, thank you. Yes. I will. Thank you. Mycroft says hi. Yes. Must go. Bye. Love you too,” he rolls his eyes at Mycroft as they make their way into the house. Mycroft flashes him a smile in return and as Greg hangs up he says: “Your parents are wonderful Greg, thank you for letting me meet them.”

“You’re welcome Mycroft, thank you for coming along with me. Mum says hi back.”

They both jump as the doorbell rings, and Mycroft shoves Greg into the bathroom so he can change into more comfortable clothes as he goes to open and set up the small table in the kitchen.

Greg joins him a minute later and groans as he stretches then smiles at the sight of the feast in front of them.

“I thought a nice white might go well with the spice, but I know you prefer red. See how you feel about this one, we can open another one if you don’t like it,” Mycroft says, holding out a glass.

Greg takes a sip of the red wine and looks at Mycroft with a frown “this is amazing and you know it, sit down.”

They eat quickly and quietly, and after dinner fill each other in on the gaps of the case while finishing the wine. While they are doing the dishes, Greg realizes he will have to change back into his jeans to take a taxi home to his cold flat but before he can say anything Mycroft whispers: “Don’t. Stay here.”

Greg stares at him, then nods, “I was planning on another night away and we do still have the day off tomorrow.”

“That we do,” Mycroft confirms.

As they finish washing up Greg has an idea. “I know we’ve been joking about this, but I have Clueless on my laptop. We could grab another bottle of wine and watch it together?”

“On your laptop?”

“Or on your telly, if that would be more comfortable for you, but I was thinking of being under a heap of blankets for this.”

Mycroft blushes and smiles, “that sounds wonderful.”

“Alright then!”

In Mycroft’s bedroom, Greg crawls into bed, fluffing up the pillows behind his back, and sets up the movie on his laptop, while Mycroft gets changed into his pyjamas.

When Mycroft is settled next to Greg and they are both holding a fresh glass of wine, Greg says: “Last chance Mycroft, we could still change movies.”

“Please accept that I do not do things I don’t want to, Gregory” Mycroft smiles reassuringly, “play the movie.”

“Alright,” it is Greg’s turn to blush “but be warned that it’s a movie for teenagers in the 90s in the US. If you don’t like it we can stop it and do something else but if we do watch it all the way maybe you can think of it as something to bond over with the girls when you meet them.”

“I must confess that is how I’ve been thinking of this,” Mycroft admits, and he leans over to press play.

As they settle in to watch, their shoulders and upper arms touching, Mycroft starts whispering deductions about the characters and actors in the movie. Through a fit of laughter at Mycroft’s psychoanalysis of Cher’s character, Greg manages to choke out: “God I want to never watch a movie without you again, this is so much fun.” 

Realizing what he said he decides to double down and smiles at Mycroft, letting his face show all his affection. Mycroft shyly returns the smile, and they turn back to the screen, leaning a bit closer to each other. 

When the movie is done, Mycroft goes to brush his teeth. Stepping back into the bedroom he sees Greg standing in the middle of the room holding his toothbrush. “Can I stay here?” He asks, suddenly worried about his assumption.

“Absolutely,” Mycroft confirms, and he steps aside to let Greg into the bathroom. When Greg steps out again, the lights in the bedroom are low, and Mycroft is lying on his side typing into his phone. Greg lies down next to him and settles into the comfortable mattress with a sigh. “I feel like today took a hundred years.”

Mycroft turns off the light and puts away his phone before turning back to Greg “and this weekend took about 20 minutes. I believe Einstein had some things to say about that.”

They laugh quietly. “Are you sure it’s ok I sleep here?”

“I fall asleep much faster when you are near, you bring me great comfort.”

Greg sighs heavily and sneaks a little closer. They’re not touching but he can feel Mycroft’s warmth radiating onto him and can hear his quiet breathing. 

“G’night” he whispers.

“Sleep tight.”


	4. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in London together allows Greg and Mycroft to finally talk about what they could be.

Greg wakes up at what he can feel is way too early o’clock and takes a moment to figure out where he is. The steady breathing of Mycroft next to him helps, as does the smell of Mycroft’s laundry powder. The bed he is lying in is supremely comfortable and he is reluctant to move even as he realizes he needs to use the bathroom. Just when he debates falling asleep again just to avoid leaving the bed, Mycroft wakes up.

“How could you possibly be sleeping better next to me, when I wake you up so easily?” Greg huffs.

“Insomnia, and I’ve always been a light sleeper” Mycroft mumbles groggily. “Now go use the bathroom your wriggling is driving me insane.”

Laughing outright Greg swings his legs over to pad to the bathroom. When he joins Mycroft in the warm nest again, he realizes he is going to have a very hard time falling asleep again.

“Will I be keeping you up if I start talking now?”

“Probably, but I am too curious now as to what you would like to talk about, so you’ve no choice but to go ahead.”

“Alright,” Greg sighs, “time to do this then.” He feels Mycroft tense next to him as he realizes they’re about to stop dancing around the issue.

“You start or I start?” Greg asks into the dark bedroom.

“I have no idea where to start” Mycroft whispers. The air in the room grows heavy, the unspoken tension having grown stifling over the past days.

“Mycroft,” Greg starts, “there are a million things I can say right now to try and convince you of all sorts of things, but it comes down to something very simple. I want you, I want to be with you. Pretending to be in a relationship with you for the past few days, as well as learning so much about you has made me see that there isn't anything in this world I want more.”

Mycroft doesn’t speak and doesn’t move, except to grab Greg’s hand and pour all that he’s feeling into the single point of contact.

“I know this isn’t easy for you but I would like nothing better than a chance to be everything we can be. We can talk about all the specifics in as much detail as you want and I promise I don’t want anything you can’t or don’t want to give.” Greg is grabbing Mycroft’s hand as firmly as he can in return, biting down on his lip to keep from rambling.

The silence stretches out between them and just as he thinks Mycroft might never respond, he hears a sniffle, and then a muffled sob.

“Oh love, come here” he lets go of Mycroft’s hand to pull him into a hug. As he’s holding Mycroft close to his chest, he starts stroking his hair to calm him down. It works almost immediately, and Mycroft relaxes into his arms, then starts talking.

“Gregory, I’ve never felt this way before.” He sighs, “I’ve never let myself. I have no idea where to start. I don’t know how to tell you what I want because I don’t know what I want. I’m trying to trust you but I’m feeling rather out of my debt.”

“Ok stop” Greg interrupts. “If what you’re feeling is a knot in your stomach, worry, fondness, wonder, and a whole bunch of other things,” Mycroft nods against his chest so he goes on, “that is how I feel too. You have exactly as much power over me as I do over you.”

“I don’t believe that at all” Mycroft huffs.

“I’m finding it hard to believe that the man who is somehow both the sexiest and the smartest person I have ever met and then became my best friend, might want to actually be in a relationship with me,” Greg smiles, overwhelmed by the moment, and grateful for the darkness.

“That is how you feel?” Mycroft sound immensely relieved.

“Absolutely. Now please tell me if you don’t want that because I swear I can go back to how we were before but a few more minutes like this and I fear I won’t be able to,” Greg rambles, his tone betraying how nervous he is.

“Oh god yes, Gregory. Yes, absolutely. I want nothing more.”

Greg heaves a deep sigh which ends up in a sob, and when he curls into himself, Mycroft wraps his arms around him and presses soft kisses on the top of his head.

“I feel like I just skydived” he admits, muffled against Mycroft’s chest. They both laugh a little, the tension developing into a sense of relief.

“Do you want to make lists of what ifs so we can talk about them?” He suggests, inhaling the warm, clean sent of Mycroft that envelopes him.

“Yes, that sounds like a very good idea. Can we lie here and bask in the adrenaline and oxytocin for a moment longer first?”

Greg laughs and muffles a fond “big words” against Mycroft’s shoulder, before nestling himself deeper into the hug.

“I wanted to do this every night we shared a bed” he confesses after a moment.

“I don’t mind it at all when you touch me” Mycroft admits, surprised at his own words.

“I can’t believe I genuinely don’t care if I never find out what you actually do” Greg says, equally surprised.

“What if your children hate me?” Mycroft asks.

“Excuse you?” Greg frowns, “I thought we were going to make a list.”

“You’re right,” Mycroft laughs, and Greg pulls him closer.

“They will love you, and if they don’t we’ll figure it out.”

“I’m worried that,” Mycroft starts, and he swallows, “I will consume you.”

Greg laughs, “that is exactly what I want. I know you don't share and you don't let go and that is exactly what I want.”

They look at each other, eyes darks, Mycroft’s arms around Greg, Greg’s arm around Mycroft’s waist. Greg shifts his other arm so his fingers are touching Mycroft’s cheek. They move their faces closer to each other, until their noses are touching at the tips, and Greg’s smile could light up the whole room. His eyes are sparkling and he _knows_. Tilting his face to the left slightly, Mycroft leans forward, letting his eyes fall close exactly as their lips touch. They kiss slowly and timidly before all that falls away and they are just eager.

Mycroft possessively hooks a leg over Greg’s and wraps long fingers around the back of Greg’s neck and they both shiver like all their nerves are on fire. After an eternity of kissing and tasting and licking, they both become aware of the glow around the curtains at the same time. Sighing, Greg lets his head fall to Mycroft’s shoulder, kissing him just below his jaw as he mumbles “mornin’ love”. Mycroft wraps his arms around tighter and stiffens a little when he remembers something else they should talk about.

“Am I your boyfriend now?”

“If you want, though I was thinking partner.”

“Partner.”

They make eye contact and giggle, happy butterflies all over. Greg kisses Mycroft all over his face, loud and wet, while Mycroft laughs and tries to push him off. He finally manages to pin Greg down, flipping him on his back and holding his wrists on either side of his head. Still laughing, he leans over and pecks Greg on the nose sweetly.

“I never dreamt it could be like this,” he smiles, eyes bright.

“You are stunning,” Greg answers, honest admiration written all over his face.

Mycroft blushes bright. “Would you care for breakfast? I believe Anthea may have stocked the kitchen.”

“Oh yes, crêpes or English breakfast?”

“Let’s check if there are strawberries.”

“It’s practically winter Mycroft, there really shouldn’t be strawberries.”

“Way harsh, Greg,” Mycroft shoots back, which earns him another kiss. 

\-----

When they are standing in front of the fridge together, trying to decide what to eat, Greg starts to interrogate Mycroft.

“What will Sherlock say?”

“He will pretend to be disgusted but secretly happy for us.”

“What about your parents?”

“They will be delighted and annoyingly happy for us.”

“Work?”

“Is this your list, Gregory? I thought we were going to write these things down?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go all DI in a high-stress situation on you,” Greg blushes.

Mycroft hesitates for a moment, then tentatively wraps his arms around Greg. “Is this ok?”

“Better than ok,” Greg sighs, “it’s exactly what I needed.”

“I’m out at work if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll have to fill in some forms but your security clearance is way above what you need for this, so it won’t take long.”

“You don’t want to keep this a secret?”

“I’m still a very private person, I won’t be comfortable with displaying affection in public, but I am certainly not ashamed of being seen with you or the nature of our relationship.”

“It’s chill if people know, but no PDA. I like that.” Greg turns in Mycroft’s arms to kiss him again.

“Can we please get started on breakfast?”

“A hungry Holmes,” Greg laughs, “what have I done to deserve this?” But he kisses Mycroft again and grabs eggs and mushrooms out of the fridge.

“Oh, if you check my bag, my dad got you a bag of his coffee beans.” He says over his shoulder, as he starts cleaning the mushrooms.

Mycroft freezes. “Really? They actually like me?”

“Yes, Mycroft, really,” Greg rolls his eyes, “don’t tell me you couldn’t deduce they’re not the lying kind.”

“I don’t commonly inspire feelings of kindness or affection, Gregory,” Mycroft answers stiffly.

“Yeah well, treat the Lestrades like an exception, will you?”

Mycroft nods and returns swiftly with a Ziploc bag full of coffee beans. “Where does he buy these?”

“He roasts them himself, says it ‘makes all the difference’. His beans are a custom mix that he buys straight from Nicaragua.”

“I thought I was particular,” Mycroft mumbles, as he gets the coffee grinder from the cupboard.

Greg laughs, “he’s never given the beans to anyone but Em before, says no one understands how special they are.”

“Oh,” Mycroft sighs, happy surprise all over his face. “Could I have his phone number so I may thank him?”

“Take it from my phone,” Greg suggests, as he serves up the breakfast he cooked. “How many pieces of bacon do you want?”

“You trust me,” Mycroft states, even more surprised now. “Three.”

“I let you meet my children, obviously I trust you.”

“You let Sherlock meet your children,” Mycroft shoots back over the noise of the coffee machine.

“No, I didn’t. He broke in through kitchen window one day.” They both laugh and sit down to eat, with their cups of coffee.

As they are eating, Greg leans forward to tell Mycroft: “I’m a very curious person and what you’ve seen so far has been me trying my very best not to pry or be nosy.”

“I don’t like talking about myself” Mycroft warns.

“I know.”

“We can take turns and every time I refuse to answer a question, you get to skip one too?”

“That sounds tempting, but I would rather hear the stories from you. I know that if I ask the question the wrong way I won’t get the full answer.”

“You’re right. I’m very curious about you too Greg, I find myself wondering how you grew up, and what sort of traditions you have with your children.”

Greg grabs Mycroft’s hand over the table at that, and kisses his knuckles sweetly.

“I’m very glad we have the whole day to talk. If you’re not sick of me yet, I was thinking we could drive to Surray Hills?”

“Would you consider staying the night if we pick up some work clothes for you to wear tomorrow?”

“Mycroft, if you want me, I’ll stay forever.”

“Then forever it shall be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! An extra big thanks to those who were considerate enough to leave comments. I am so grateful for your encouragements!


End file.
